


That Seasonal Spirit

by btvsp2082



Series: Between Seacrest and Revello [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/btvsp2082/pseuds/btvsp2082
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the S4 episode "Pangs" of BtVS, and post-S3 episode, "Spit and Eggs" of VM. It's the start of the holidays, but everything isn't so jolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note to say that in the epilogue, dialogue from the movie, "Christmas Vacation" is reproduced. And since this does take place during an actual canon episode, dialogue from that is also reproduced sometimes.
> 
> Don't own anything. Hope you enjoy. :-)

"I have no clue how to fix this," Buffy said as she stood in Giles’ kitchen, checking the stove while he peeled vegetables for her Thanksgiving dinner. “I’m clueless.”

"The stuffing? Or our spirit warrior's desire to murder innocent people?" he asked, having trouble managing three conversations at once.

Native American spirit warriors. That's what she got for coming home for the holiday. After the semester she had, this was stress she didn't need, but it was her idea to get away. Because there was no place like Hell.

"No, me and Veronica." She looked at him like she couldn't understand why he'd be talking about anything else. "I hate feeling bad for saving someone I love from a rapist's Renfield," she sighed. "Do you have a ricer?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't have a ricer? What do you mean?" She refused to believe this; it didn't make any kind of sense. "How could someone not have a ricer?

The once watcher rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, do you have one at home?"

"I don't know. What's a ricer?"

 

______

 

The semester of fun had been cut short after Mac's roommate, Parker--who turned out to be really sweet--was raped. Veronica took on the case. Buffy hadn't ever experienced her girlfriend’s dogged side up close before; not day in and day out. She'd been warned about the scary, tunnel vision, but still.

Veronica pursued with little thought as to who she might hurt or antagonize along the way.

For the first time, even though she'd be standing right next to her, Buffy felt that Veronica left her behind. They fought as a result, dredging up flaws...another unpleasant first. That wasn't them. Wasn't them at all.

And then, a couple weeks ago, she'd interrupted Moe, Wallace's R.A. (a.k.a. the Renfield), in the Hearst parking garage. He'd drugged Veronica and begun shaving her head. After preventing his escape and bouncing a car door off his face, Buffy called the Sherriff's Department.

When he regained consciousness, Moe gave up campus bookie, Mercer Hayes, as the rapist. Logan previously vouched for the scumbag, too. Aaron Echolls' son was not happy.

It was over. They should've found their way back to normal. But so far? Nothing. Nineteen years they'd been friends, and for a year and a half almost, a couple. And now they weren’t speaking.

 

______

 

"I take it you're asking my advice?" Giles inquired, running his hands under the sink, finished with his assigned task.

"Maybe. Unofficially," said Buffy in a small voice. "Yeah," she sighed again. "We should've stayed in the clink; we were happy there."

Off came the glasses at his incredulous stare. Her innocent, "Didn't I tell you?" face, stared back. There was silence as he wiped his glasses with the towel that'd been over his shoulder.

"Sorry, couldn't hear a blasted thing just now...strange, that." Then he dried his hands, and the glasses went back on. "From what little I know of her, Veronica seems a very intelligent, resourceful, and determined girl. You've mentioned more than once how she can sometimes treat her...cases, as-as highly personal. Which, for her own peace of mind, she feels compelled to see through. No matter what the potential consequences."

Buffy nodded. "Swear it's like a mission sometimes." She half-smirked, saying next, "Only, I’m pretty sure my version was less wordy and British-sounding."

But there was no smirk as she realized, "Stepped on her gumshoes, didn't I?"

She'd caught the bad guy Veronica had her sights on, and didn't allow her the satisfaction of collaring him. Damn.

"But, that's _not_ what I was trying to do!" she yelled at...herself. "My whole thinking? 'Bastard hurt girlfriend, Buffy kill bastard.' Any mystery-solving was by accident. It so isn't my area."

"I'd be careful not to make light of such thinking around Faith," Giles advised seriously.

"Who's making light? Being completely heavy, here."

His expression was patriarchal and admonishing.

"I know, Giles. Okay?" Buffy couldn't believe he thought she was that dumb. "How's she been? Watcher-perspective."

"Very much committed to training and patrolling," he said, still somewhat amazed by the turnaround.

He was appreciative also--training Faith kept him from feeling useless.

"She doesn't say it, but I believe she thinks she has to redeem herself by living up to your example."

"She knows I turned my vampire ex-boyfriend back into a mass-murderer, right?" Buffy asked rhetorically, and it kind of inevitably hung there while they both remembered the victim that had struck closest to home: Jenny Calendar.

"Uh, so how much do you hate me for de-committing? I’ve been exercising daily, though. Oh, and there have been a few vamps in Neptune since I started living there again. I think they followed me. Like evil puppies," she deduced. "But they're giving somebody asthma within two seconds of meeting Mr. Pointy. Promise. Can still slay with the best of 'em."

"You're concentrating on university, Buffy. There's nothing wrong with that." He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You deserve to experience life beyond the trappings of your calling, and I want you to take full advantage.

"Of-of course, in situations like the one with this, ah--'Hus,' you called him?--we're quite glad to have you home."

Her eyebrow quirked. "That seguing was almost close to seamless."

She really was planning on focusing on the vengeful, ghost guy who made her feel just the tiniest bit like a guilty, white oppressor, but...

"The stuffing! Mom was supposed to write down the recipe before they left for Aunt Darlene's," she panicked, moving over to the counter to rifle through the recipe book, and after several moments, shook her head. "But it can't be just that. I mean, we fought before I ever..."

"You and your mother?" He'd been in this conversation long enough to know she wasn't ever going to cover his topic of choice.

That look came again as she said, "Me and Veronica."

 

______

 

Was that a headache he felt?

"Might I suggest talking to her instead of me? If I possessed the ability to mend your relationship, I would. If only so your attentions were less divided," he said pointedly. "However, I'm afraid it's a task that must fall to you and she alone."

They were clearly very stubborn, and therefore, very alike, and he was staying out of it.

Buffy's eyes went wide. "You think it needs mending?"

It couldn't be that bad. "Believe me, I wanna be chatty. Hafta be. And if she's still...coming, it's gonna happen," she reminded herself to stay positive. "Where else could she go? Her dad's with my mom, Parker's having Thanksgiving with Mac's family, Wallace is at _his_ dad's, Piz drove home, and Logan's...hopefully not an option."

Veronica had to come.

"I'm sure she'll be here soon." After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Now, about--"

Unfortunately for him, the doorbell rang.

As she ran off, he commented to himself, "Right. Because he'll kindly wait until after supper before slaughtering us all."

When Buffy opened the door, Willow was standing there holding a large stack of books, atop which sat a bag of peas. Buffy deflated at the fact that it wasn't who she wanted it to be. Under any other circumstances, Willow would've been hurt.

"No?" she sympathetically questioned.

"No," Buffy sadly confirmed. "Peas?"

"Peas."

Buffy took them off the large stack of books, and ran back into the kitchen.

 

________

 

"Tell me I'm missing somethin'," Weevil requested, driving his car down Sunnydale's main street. "’Cause this place? Hell's fundillo?"

He wasn't buying it. "All these wasps around, I'm gonna get stung before I ever gotta watch my neck."

"Hell’s _boca_ , actually," Veronica corrected, leaving her thoughts to do so. "Where the ‘spoon plane’ should've landed for a wee Weevil.  But if it ever did need to change course, hope it had a damn fine pilot," she cracked, turning her head to smirk at him.

"Every burg's got its underbelly, though. Wait'll Mister Gas Ball takes his nightly siesta." She pointed up and out the windshield. "Come tomorrow, you may just wanna be back in Neptune’s more familiar brand of seedy."

Weevil slowed for a stop sign. "How long’s it been since you had a boca on your fundillo?"

Her features hardened. "Turn right."

What prompted the estrangement to which he slyly referred?

 

_{"I told you what I'm like...how I need to be. Do I wish I could turn it off and live the 'Hearst Experience' promised by the brochure? Yeah. But being an unbending, social leper who has no problem dealing out comeuppance if screwed with? That’s how I get honest answers to my probing questions," she had defended herself to her girlfriend, speaking from experience._

_"And right now, a husky 'D Block'-er named 'Tiffany' is laying on a bottom bunk all alone; damned if I'm gonna let that stand. It’s cold at night on the inside."_

_"Exactly why I'm glad I had company." But humor didn't deflect Buffy that time. "Know what I’ve been wishing for? Her to still be here."_

_There'd been a semi-dramatic pause._

_"Because she'd trust me to help with the coping--you know, support system?" Buffy’s question was pointed. "But like everyone else, I get 'Veronica Mars.' And I don't care what_ she _says...'Veronica' doesn't need to go hibernating."_

_"Oh, like you're available year-round?" Veronica, or whoever she was, had fired back. "Ya come home after a hard day's night, and..." She trailed off. "Oops, wait, sorry--you don't. Wherever the hell you are, it isn't anyplace I can track. I've tried."_

_That's how it felt, anyway._

_"I just wanna have my stone wall too; careful, that last step into hypocrisy? Bit of a doozy."_

_"Slaying is--"_

_"--yours and Busty McGee's corner of the market, I know. And it's impossible for those of us who’d never survive said corner, to grasp how it feels to work there...so what's the point trying to explain, right?" Veronica retaliated. "Well, same goes for mine."_

_"It's...different,” Buffy had said. "At least I come back."_

_Another dramatic pause._

_"At least I don't look for reasons for people to be guilty instead of not...and I definitely wouldn't if my friend told me he wasn't."}_

______

It worsened from there, until Veronica escaped the fight, needing to be elsewhere. Because that's what she did when someone cut too close. Even with Buffy, it seemed.

She and Buffy got angry. At each other. Hurtful words and ugly truths were bandied about. Such a surreal experience.

For weeks now, they'd avoided contact. The last time they clashed was when Buffy made them lose the two-legged race on Field Day in fourth grade, tripping just prior to the finish. But then, ice cream resolved everything.

Weevil tended to be absent from Field Day. Thankfully, he chose not to be absent from Buffy's Thanksgiving dinner. It was him who pressured Veronica into sucking it up, under the excuse that he needed a navigator. He was also the friend Buffy had referred to her going after.

Yeah, criminal past, but he would never steal from her. Especially not something that meant as much to her as Lilly's necklace. Except she apparently couldn't help it.

Her first inclination was always to suspect, even if she was learning that Hearst--despite a few unsavory characters--wasn't nearly as bad as Neptune High. Not wanting to be caught unaware, she entered college prepared for battle. More often than not however, she only made her life unnecessarily more difficult.

 

______

 

Buffy was right about "Veronica Mars."

Since Mercer had been locked away, "Veronica" was let out again. It was going to take work to keep her around. First, she had forgiveness to beg. She planned to lean on the girl she loved from here onward, and she needed to be able to look Buffy in the eye.

Getting comfort from across a cell tower wasn’t the same. She couldn’t hide behind a phone when things got serious, not from Buffy. That wasn't what people who loved one another did. But they did occasionally fight.

People not in love? Didn't bother. Or so she'd read.

All she knew was that she didn't much like separation. Waking up solo didn't hold the same appeal it used to. These weeks without Buffy's company were quite shitty, in fact.

Weevil slowed the car to a stop in front of Giles' apartment complex.

"Figure I should get in the habit, so...I'm sorry, Weevil," she apologized to him.

"Gonna make me cry, V," he grinned his acceptance at her, and opened his door. "You go in, act like a moron? Hope you got the cash for a Greyhound."

As he got out, she sarcastically responded, "Wow, I feel inspired. Somebody oughta tell Tony Robbins to watch his back."

 

________

 

The fourth time Buffy opened Giles' front door, Weevil waited on the other side. Her smile would've been larger had she seen someone else with him. They hugged.

"Were my directions followable?"

"Town ain't that big, Hazel Eyes," he said back, ending the hug. "And you owe me one."

Buffy's brow creased as he walked by her into the house, but she soon saw that Veronica had been behind him. Inside, butterflies were thrilled; outside, it was an uncertain few moments. Veronica, as always in these types of situations, braved speaking first.

"Bertha," she greeted.

Hearing that, Buffy relaxed and remembered to breathe. "Marge."

They invented yet more nicknames in the slammer.

"Brought rolls." Veronica held up the bag.

"Great! Xander forgot." Buffy’s smile was grateful. "Thanks."

"Somebody always forgets the rolls."

"He's kinda cursed with syphilis; I couldn't get too mad."

"Thanks a lot, Xander! Way to make Chlamydia look like the 'Bunion' of STDs!" Veronica yelled inside, then said to Buffy, "Wanna take a break?"

"Uh huh," answered Buffy, hurrying outside and shutting the door behind her. "Willow and Giles are driving me nuts."

Veronica's eyebrows rose in question.

"Guess that needs explaining," Buffy continued.

"It's not the only thing that does."

Thanksgiving’s self-appointed matriarch forgot all about dinner in that second. It was a miracle.


	2. Two

"Glad we settled that question," spoke Veronica with relieved confidence as she lay beside Buffy in Buffy's bed.

Buffy agreed, trying to return her heart rate to normal levels. "I think I finally get the whole, 'make up sex' craze, now."

They'd walked to her house, Buffy saying she needed to find a ricer. Topics of conversation included: how it was a shame Dean O'Dell committed suicide over his wife's affair with Veronica's Criminology professor; the frightening, deepening relationship between Keith and Joyce; and the trials and tribulations surrounding Buffy's dinner plans.

It wasn't that they were playing it safe, it was just that they didn't know how to begin. Both wanted to make sure "it" was still there between them--the bonds of friendship, "The Look"...so they didn't force anything. Whatever happened, happened.

In the house, Veronica faux-marveled (as she did every time she stepped into the Summers' foyer), at her girlfriend's mult-floored home that didn’t share walls with a chronically unemployed birthday clown, nor a shut-in named Rusty. Something about that must’ve turned Buffy on, because the couple was quickly engaged in some serious looking and re-bonding.

"Did we?" Veronica asked, rolling on her side to face Buffy, honestly curious. "Make up? ‘Cause I was planning to try this new-fangled concept...um, 'apologizing' or whatever?"

A hint of "Valley Girl" crept into her voice, then took over. "It sounds _so_ hard; I think it's like, Canadian. It wouldn't even matter, except my advisor's being a total 'Edie' about how I need a foreign language credit. Hello! I already know all this Spanish--I've been to Cancun like, immersing myself in culture, how many times? But he completely didn't care."

This was why Buffy missed Veronica. She--and them together--was fun. Though she was having flashbacks to Harmony Kendall, and that was scary. She thought it wise to soldier on.

"You aren't apologizing before me," Buffy smiled, and naturally, Veronica saw a challenge.

A silent battle of wills commenced until Buffy abruptly kissed the lips in front of her just long enough to throw their owner off.

"I'm sorry." The sly grin happened without Buffy’s conscious knowledge. "See? Wouldn't fib."

"Well played," admitted Veronica respectfully. Her smile was both warm and regretting. "And no...you wouldn't."

That was called, "trust." Probably unconditional.

"Fighting? With you? Brand new experience, didn't care for it. I know we're going to--when two people are haulin' it long, that’s just playing the percentages." If there was one thing you couldn't label Veronica, it was "naïve." "But going _there_ for our dry run? Now I don’t have to imagine what ‘Zero’ to ‘Whiplash’ feels like."

She kissed Buffy this time. "I'm sorry, too."

 

______

 

"Next time we talk. Before bubbling over happens," Buffy said, and what they wouldn't give for a Delorean. "But I guess I didn't wanna get in your way. I mean, you've been honing your inner-'Agatha' for years; it's what you do. Me? Rarely sleuth-y. So I just..."

She made a motion like dragging a zipper over her lips. "...’til the bubbling over."

"And I'm no Pink Ranger," Veronica simultaneously teased while similarly fessing up. "So my word hole was just as clamped."

She demonstrated by pressing under Buffy's chin, and closing her mouth.

Buffy's look said that comparison wouldn't be forgotten, but for now she stayed on point. "I seriously never saw a downside. But then whiplash."

"Who could've predicted?" Veronica smirked at the dumbness of their choice, whose consequence seemed so obvious in hindsight. "After Parker was raped...in between telling Lamb I was there, and setting my red-eyed sights…remember that day?"

The eve before, Willow, Mac, Buffy and Veronica had tickets to a midnight movie, which Mac had left in her room. Thinking Parker was inside just having sex, Veronica volunteered to brave possible awkwardness and fetch; she did so as quickly as she could.

Following their night out, Mac offered to let Willow crash so an inebriated and frisky couple could go get biblical.

"I remember my girlfriend feeling like crap, and me completely forgetting about class; I wasn't gonna let the guilt avalanche. Know how deep it can get," said Buffy in answer.

"Well, I remember feeling awwwful content in that room. Too content. Almost forgot I had a compulsion to give into," Veronica started to explain. "If I didn't shut you out, not only was I gonna sidetrack...I wasn’t gonna realize it. Somebody had to collar Mercer, and you never leave that to the Fuzz.

"But trust? She weren't no issue."

It was kind of complimentary, but it had still hurt.

"It shoulda been you." Buffy sought penance. "I didn’t even know what ‘collaring’ was."

Veronica was confused. "You saved my hair, maybe even my life...Mercer and Moe are Tiffany's love bucket...and best of all, no more girls have to wake up like Parker did. How big does 'Gen-Pop' think my ego is?"

Buffy pretended to cough, and looked away.

 

______

 

"Well, shiv," sighed Veronica. "I was angry at myself. Don't love it when an Oolong-downing 'Screech' gets the drop on me. Every 'Saved By the Bell' rerun triggers flashbacks. Damn man-bitch."

She rolled overtop. "If I _had been_ mad at you, hypothetically, it was because I promised Parker...then didn't personally deliver the silver platter. But like I said..."

This time, she said it non-verbally, but still with tongue.

"More than willing to 'make up' as hard as you want--if you aren't convinced."

Never had Buffy been so tempted to lie. However, Veronica's cell phone loudly spared her from having to. Of course, it also prevented their chat from reaching a natural conclusion; they hadn't even gotten to her yet. Later, hopefully.

"Why's it sound like it's coming from the hallway?" Veronica wondered.

"’Cause that's where your pants are?" Buffy suggested from below her.

Veronica nodded. "Yes. How quickly it all falls into place."

She reluctantly rolled off her girlfriend and got to her feet. Buffy started to reach for the folded blanket at the end of the bed, but Veronica held her hands up. She was declining the fabric.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa--why cover myself in a blanket, when I can cover myself in you?" As she grinned, it kept ringing. "Hurry...what if it's my dad?"

Buffy stared at her until it sunk in.

"Oh. You argue a strong case. Blanket?"

Veronica wrapped herself in it, and booked for her pants. When she came back in, she held phone in one hand, and various garments in the other. After tossing them at Buffy, she covered the phone, said "Good call," then spoke to Keith again.

 

______

 

"Yeah, no, we...Why didn't we hear the phone? Uh, do you think potatoes mash themselves? You wouldn't believe how loud Giles' mixer is."

#Didn't mean to interrupt, honey. Just thought I'd check in, see if you were imprisoned.#

"Only by each other's hearts, Pa," she said in a melodramatic, Southern drawl, "only by each other's hearts." 

When Buffy heard "mashed potatoes," she remembered it was Thanksgiving. And that without her, there'd be no Thanksgiving dinner. Panicked, she searched through the clothing, intending on setting a "speed-dressing" record.

#That's nice. Oh, uh, Joyce and I are going to the chapel.#

"Be careful how you close that lyric." Veronica paled and covered the phone again, speaking low through gritted teeth. "They're going to the chapel!"

Buffy froze, bra still unclasped in the back and leg up in the air that she still had to put in her pants. She hopped to keep her balance. "What chapel?"

"Start elaborating," daughter interrogated father.

#There’s one in town that Buffy's uncle did the stained-glass for.#

"Local," Veronica said to Buffy, and the rest was hazy. "And for some reason, your uncle's a Stain'd fan."

"Who elopes to Ohio?"

"Drew Carey?"

All the sudden Veronica beckoned, and Buffy hopped her way there. The phone was angled so she could hear her mother laughing in the background. Cruel.

"We were just naked, y’know. Lacking clothes. Together," announced Buffy.

"And not, 'just out of the shower' naked, either," Veronica added readily.

"'Need a shower _now_ ,' naked."

"Were mashed potatoes actually involved? We'd tell you, but, nobody uses their imaginations today. And that's sad."

A click sounded on the other end.

"Hey! They don't get to hang up!" Buffy complained, feeling cheated. Then her "Thanksgiving ADD" came back with a vengeance. "Clothes. Dinner. Evil spirit. Gotta be moving."

 

______

 

Veronica knew when not to argue. Except...

"Don't get me wrong, we definitely oughta consider getting our surprisingly fragrant selves waxed into an overpriced candle." Where did Veronica come up with this stuff? "Still--"

"Giles has a shower," responded Buffy, to which her girlfriend's eyebrows rose. "For _showering_.”

"Yeah, you better head over," Veronica slipped her shirt over her head. "But my inner-Agatha and I have to be onboard the Orient Express by six."

Judging by the "Don't even try it" look, there was no way she was getting out of helping.

"How you can still deny being the butch one with a ‘straight’ face--she adds for the heckler in the back--is beyond even my well-honed, deductive skills."

"Maybe you’ll solve that next," Buffy said with a smile, having dressed enough to venture from her bedroom. "I'm gonna get the ricer and find our shoes."

But not before kissing some more. "My shoes, your boots, I mean. Meet you downstairs?"

She didn't wait for a reply, she just went.

Veronica stood there a moment, smiling at the empty doorway. She'd never cop to it, but it was okay if some mysteries stayed unsolved. Though she would see her gripes addressed before the night was out.

"What the frak is a ricer?" she yelled down.


	3. Three

Around 1:15 in the afternoon, Weevil answered yet another knock on Giles' front door. Standing huddled in a brown, wool blanket outside, was a sickly-looking Spike. Each man sized the other. Weevil looked up at the hot sun, then at the pale face surrounded by dark fabric, and did some simple math. Arms crossed his chest, and he looked like the intimidating gang leader he used to be.

Spike? Spike was never good at arithmetic.

"Who the bloody hell're you?" the malnourished, Brit vampire asked, not expecting this at all. "The Watcher hire himself a maid, did he?"

"Yo, Buffy!" Weevil's expression hardened as he called inside. "You expecting more company?"

"Slayer's home?" Spike perked up. "Short, blond, high horse? Plays at the 'hero' gig between pokes? Because we're old friends, her and me."

"No!" came the answer Weevil was hoping for.

His next words were directed at the vampire. "Didn't think so."

Spike didn't like the way this was going. "Okay, right...caught 'The Big Bad' in a stretch, I admit it," he uttered nervously. "But, try to kill a girl enough times...line starts t'blur, really."

No reaction.

"C'mon, Cheech! I'm parboiling out here."

Weevil got a "light bulb" look on his face. "Damn, I almost forgot. 'Masterpiece Theater' in there? He, uh, won't shut up about _all_ this dust," he moved his hands, palms down, in a circular motion, "piled in front of his place. Wants it cleared off.

“Sounds like the maid's job to me."

"What dust?" Spike immediately regretted asking.

"Wanna get a good look, back off a couple steps," suggested Weevil, and Spike glanced briefly back. "You're standing in it, 'White Wedding.'"

"How stupid do you think I..." Then Spike realized Weevil had a grip on the blanket. "Oh, bollocks."

Weevil yanked the blanket from the weak vampire's grip.

"Stupid enough."

By the time Spike had finished screaming and bursting into flame, Giles was next to Weevil in the doorway.

"I don't usually sweep for free but, there was a broom in my hand all the sudden, I might think about it."

Giles was distracted by a glint he saw in the ash. He knelt down and carefully took it between his thumb and forefinger. "A microchip?"

Weevil wasn't nearly as impressed as Giles seemed. "If that's supposed to be sun-block, thing needs work."

"Hmm?" Giles stood back up, still looking at the chip as he turned back inside. "Oh. Indeed...yes. Cheers for killing Spike."

Weevil shrugged. "Had to pass the time somehow--ain't like I can eat yet. And I saw better football in the yard.”

When he shut the door, Buffy taking his words personal, he wasn't aware that another vampire was watching from across the street, smiling just a little into his reflection-less rearview mirror.

 

________

 

Veronica walked downstairs, hair still damp from her shower, passing Willow at the bottom, who was on her laptop. She looked over at the couch where Xander had been laid up, afflicted with mystical syphilis, smallpox, a sprinkle of malaria…all diseases that Hus' Chumash tribe were exposed to centuries ago. Anya, ex-vengeance demon and his current girlfriend, sat at his side.

"Look, see those rashes on your palms? You're in the second stage now," said Anya, trying for a positive tone, but not selling it at all. "Don't worry, as long as Buffy or Faith kills the possibly justified Indian before the last stage? You'll stop looking so pasty and unattractive. Practically right away.

“ _And_ , the virility and stamina will also come back to your penis, so you'll be able to give me all the orgasms I've had to miss today."

Everyone, Veronica saw--from Weevil and Faith, crowding around the research desk to play Uno per Dawn’s insistence; to Buffy herself, slaving over a hot stove--recoiled like they'd been slapped with a fish.

Well, not Dawn. The girl had apparently been trained to cover her ears whenever Anya started to speak. A wise lesson for them all to learn.

"Last stage?" Xander said, panicky. "And what 'possibly'?"

"Oh, your organs'll start to fail," Anya said easily, more focused on the second question. "But he riddled my boyfriend with inconvenient diseases...so obviously he has to die."

She smiled at him and he smiled weakly back, paling even more.

"Still, vengeance can be necessary and fulfilling. Your ancestors were eaten by maggots hundreds of years ago...how else is he supposed to exact it?"

"Okay, twisty logic at its twistiest. But how ‘bout canoeing right past the exacting to, hey, a little growth and reflection? Or at least dial it down.

“There's plenty-a-shin to kick, underwear to atomically wedgie...and what's wrong with a hurts-donut, huh?” he offered as alternatives. "I get that it was your job--"

"It was a lot more than that, Xander." Anya shifted immediately to anger. "It's what I was. I owe my entire existence to vengeance." She stood from the couch. "And you'll never accept how much it means to me, will you? Your beady eyes are giving you away."

She turned and stormed out of the apartment. Veronica was the only one really listening, knowing a thing or two about vengeance herself. And if it could turn her into--

"Anya, wait!" Xander shakily got to his feet and wobbled after her out the door.

 

______

 

"See? I'm not as bad as some, 'Not Sorry I Was Evil For a Thousand Years, But Look! I'm All Better Now' people," Willow said, speaking to Giles.

She wanted a peaceful resolution with the murdering ghost. Conqueror's guilt.

"I don't recall ever saying that you wished harm upon anyone, Willow," said Giles exasperatedly.

"Nope, me either," she agreed. "But ooh, remember how voices have tones?"

Hers turned accusing, eyes not moving from her screen. Also, she may have already been a little on edge. A few weeks ago, a band played the Pit called "Shy." And that band had a female lead singer who turned out to be a werewolf.

From what Veronica understood after the fact, fur went a-flyin' between her and Oz, leaving Willow to catch the post-moon, post-coital. Then there was the part where the bitch's throat got torn out, and he left town.

"Look, plain’n’simple? We don't bring the fight to neutral ground, it's comin' to ours. So anybody got an idea how to take Geronimo down before he floats his ass over here and we're all friggin' scalped?" Faith inquired of the room, and Willow re-objected. "Sorry, pullin' rank. Held out long as I could."

After picking a card from the stack, she poked Dawn in the stomach, who finally took her hands off her ears.

"You're up, Big D. But you turn another Wild, I call foul."

"Buffy, Faith says I'm cheating!" Dawn tattled, thinking she’d have support.

"Probably ‘cause you are," Buffy replied from the kitchen.

Faith stuck her tongue out at Dawn in smug retaliation.

 

______

 

Seeing Veronica walking by with a smirk, she had to comment, "It too much to hope that B's sheets smell as fresh as you? Know they’re on loan, but...cut a super-chick a break."

"Asking the wrong person. For me, 'hoping' is as much of a dark, dead-end alley as believing in Eskimos," Veronica said with near seriousness. She followed up with a guilty grin. "But, and I'll need to verify with _my_ super-chick, a window maaaay have been cracked."

She looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Almost sounds like you haven't been that 'lucky' lately. Which, given your many...well, let's just call them 'charms'--Weevil's impressionable, after all--I'm having trouble swallowing."

Weevil grinned himself, taking a card after Dawn's turn. Drawing a five, he laid it down. "So you weren't takin' 09ers into the bathroom to work on that?"

Veronica groaned. "Some anonymous amateurs at the art of photoshopping," she coughed out "Yearbook staff," then continued, "circulate a few flyers around the Mill, and suddenly I'm giving 'Bowl Jobs' in my free time.

"Why? Because I might have suggested, offhandedly, that such tomes all be burned, thus releasing the spirits of the dead trees within. Who're trapped in Hell." 

"Freeing spirits bad," chimed in Buffy. "You get that now, right?"

"Bright side? If memory serves, I already buried that hatchet pretty freaking deep," Veronica concluded.

Willow looked up to glare.

Veronica pretended not to notice. "It's not like they're still on my list or anything."

 

______

 

"I know you guys are talking about sex stuff," Dawn said, rolling her eyes at their attempts to be sly. "Or, um, you were."

Everyone stopped. Faith, Veronica and Weevil expected to get their asses kicked, and were just waiting for the bus so they could be the first to throw the other two under it. No honor among the morally flexible.

"I very much wish I could say she's the only one who does," Giles broke the silence.

"Faith, Eli, go to the Dean's home," he instructed, taking the gauntlet thrown down by the slayer before they all got sidetracked again. "So far, Hus' victims have been figures of some authority, or in one form or another, connected to the underground mission that contained him."

It was discovered beneath land designated for UC Sunnydale's new cultural center.

"Making the Dean a likely target," he finished.

Weevil had worn similar "Fall in Line or Regret It" looks, and recognizing Giles’, he chose not to tempt fate. The man wasn't the British stereotype he appeared. Faith had learned this before.

"About time." She obediently jumped up, jetting for the exit. "You wanted 'Twilight Zone,' Navarro? I'll show ya the hotspots on the way. We get lucky, maybe you'll see my charm in action."

He stood from the table and followed. "Said the magic words."

"Try and find Xander as well?" Giles asked as Faith opened the door. "He really shouldn't be walking around in his condition. We'll keep looking for a solution."

"If I catch what Potsie's got..." Weevil said in vague warning as they walked out.

"What, Anya?" Faith asked, which got a snicker out of him. "I don't get it either, man."

 

________

 

Faith took in her surroundings--the classic car with its custom paint, plush leather interior and upholstery--and couldn’t hold in a chuckle.

"What?" Weevil asked, glancing over from the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel. 

She just shook her head. "Nuthin'."

"Nah, c'mon, Boston, share with the class."

Faith pulled herself up a little higher in the seat and shrugged, leaning an arm out her open window. "Just figured your ride'd have a couple less wheels underneath." Beat. “Wouldn'ta worked for Tink though, I guess. She ain't the type to sit 'bitch' that long."

"You neither," he smirked, looking her up and down before his eyes went back on the road. "Yeah, you'd look right at home with some chrome hummin' between your legs. Or a two-hundred pound, mullet-wearing madre that calls herself 'Ernie.'"

"Ohh! He goes _there_ on me?" Faith bemoaned and then laughed, fist in front of her mouth. "Hey, think you could hook a girl up? Outta nowhere, after a hard slay? I get a wicked craving for those friggin’ jumping beans. Grade-A, fresh off the vine..."

"Tell the truth--just wanna trade 'em for a cow, right? Hear they really boost business at the trailer park," he threw back. "Ain't my fault the outfit says what it says."

"Bygones, man." She held her hands up in surrender, speaking half-seriously. "But if I was offered a spin around some curves? Might ride ‘em for a while, what the hell. First straightaway though, I’m gettin’ off. Can't feel the road when you gotta worry about steerin'."

Weevil pressed his foot down on the pedal briefly, just enough to rev the engine, and winked. Then the car fell silent for a few moments as he turned toward the campus area of town.

 

______

 

Faith's attention shifted to the cross hanging from the rearview. "That for the vamps, or d'you actually, uh...?" 

"Have faith?" he questioned back, leading her to roll her eyes. "You miss the brown?"

"Doesn’t answer the question."

"Means yeah...whole life. And that anyone who tries to steal my baby, Fang or not, is gonna hafta answer for it, one way or another." He watched her watching the cross.

If he didn't know better, he'd think she was just as afraid of it as the undead. "How long you been doin' it?"

She quirked an eyebrow and fought a grin. "S'cuse me?"

"The fight, how long?"

"Goin' on two years--got myself drafted the summer the Pixie Twins found a 'Rainbow Connection'." Now she did grin. "But, wasn't exactly deployed all official."

Her eyes dropped to her lap; the grin disappeared. "My watcher, she uh, got killed. I ran. Wound up here."

He didn't know what she wanted him to say. "That the end of the story?"

After a blink, she shook her head. "It ends with him dead."

Weevil figured as much. "He your first big kill?"

"First one that turned personal," she replied while looking out the window again. "'Cept you missed the point."

The point was that she ran at the start, when she never should have. She was a Slayer. Albeit a shaky one.

"Point's always gotta be the end." He glanced at the cross again. "Or else me and the Hefe upstairs won't get along too well."

Following another silent stretch, Faith returned the question to him. "’Bout yours?"

"Human or demon?"

So that was it. She knew he'd been in jail, but now she knew why that look in his eyes was familiar.

"What I did needed to get done. Still gotta live with it, though. And that story? Stays with Weevil," he told her.

She smiled darkly. "Wanna know mine?"

 

______

 

He pulled the car up to the curb, and turned off the ignition. They were at the Dean's home. He knew the look in her eyes, too. Her sin wasn't premeditated.

"My guess? Line of duty."

She had to give him credit; he was a perceptive son of a bitch. "Giles says that makes it, I dunno, more..."

"Forgivable?" A not exactly comfortable lull followed, until he posed, “Buffy ever tell you about that gym?"

"Heard about it, yeah."

"Me and my boys? We were there. Who do you think got her the gas?" he continued. "Anyway, I see one, think I can win, I'll do my part. Only times in my life I know I'm in the right. But I'm freelance--I can walk away."

The two slayers couldn't, and besides, the universe wouldn't want him full-time. He knew he wasn't a good man.

"You're in a war. There's gonna be people, wrong place, wrong time, who don't deserve to go out like that. Just the way it is.

"I was in your place? I wouldn't worry about trying to balance the scales for anybody but myself. Make your peace, show up for work, and at the end, chips'll fall wherever they're gonna fall."

"Sounds simple," she said.

"Isn't."

They both looked out the windshield at the Dean's lighted porch, and imagined the law-abiding, morally uncomplicated, loving family inside that was probably full from a big meal.

He cleared his throat. "Speaking of the job..."

They each opened a door, got out, and went up the walk.

"Any ideas?" Faith asked, realizing she hadn't thought of a way to broach the subject of a killer, Indian spirit.

"I'm just here to try my luck," he said as they reached the front door. "You're the hero."

"That's what they tell me." Ringing the bell, she still wasn’t quite convinced. "Coulda sworn gettin' your luck on was a sin."

"Be a sin not to, Boston."

 

________

 

"Okay, the serial number's registered to a government contractor. For sure," Willow said, feeling validated as she got off the phone back at Giles’. "But that's all we could get without the FBI bursting in, mad and door-bashy." 

She'd looked at the chip under a microscope and was able to make out digits. Then she asked Mac to do some cross-hacking, who’d finished her dinner hours ago.

"The government?" Giles mulled that over. "That would explain the ah, persons in black camouflage Faith has repeatedly spotted around town," he said, glad to have one puzzle solved. "Though I wish we knew something of their larger intentions."

Regardless of the concern in his voice, he smiled gratefully. "Still, well done. Both of you."

Willow smiled at the praise, and, then she remembered she was still mad. "You're welcome. B-but...I don't need your approval. No sir." She gave a firm nod. "I’m so not insecure."

As she closed up her laptop and packed it away so she didn't have to look at him, he sighed again.

 

______

 

"Are you sure you guys--?" Buffy said nervously from the couch, looking over at Veronica and her sister setting the table. Without her.

She wasn't even hearing Giles and Willow.

"She _looks_ sane," Veronica said as she laid down plates and Dawn placed the utensils, "but then, so did Mel. And I think we all remember that black day in cinematic history."

There was practiced sadness in her eyes as she shook her head. "Lethal Weapon 4, anyone?"

"It's like there's these dots? An-and if you connect 'em together, they make a finger-turkey. Kinda like the one I did for my mom when I was nine, but Buffy's name's on it," Dawn said, thinking maybe Veronica couldn't be so bad if she made fun of her sister. "And, um, his eyes are all googley. Because he's wicked crazy."

"Coincidence?" Veronica asked rhetorically.

The kid had promise. Jabs were a little undeveloped, but that could be solved with age.

"Don't know about you, but I'm gettin' the feeling she doesn't trust us with the good china."

There was a deeper implication there, which was hard to miss if you were Buffy, who she now looked at.

"Also, friendly reminder? I haven't promised to love in health _and_ sickness yet."

Buffy didn't get it at first, and then she remembered who'd previously occupied the couch. She shot off Xander’s syphilis cushions and began obsessively trying to wipe germs from her arms and legs, sounding very grossed out.

"You...ew...couldn't have mentioned sooner?"

Veronica thought about it. "No."

Buffy pouted, and started to walk over. "I trust you. You know I--"

One of the high windows by the stairs shattered, and an arrow stuck itself right in the table. The five of them each looked--Hus was there reloading his bow.

 

______

 

"Uh, you can have casinos now!" Buffy informed him, though it had no effect.

More breaking glass, and more arrows. Hus had company.

"Everyone get down!" Giles knew a siege when he saw it.

Veronica had Dawn by the hand and they ducked down behind the table, urging Buffy to them. Giles and Willow went into the kitchen and adopted similar positions.

"This must be why Sunnydale stays conspicuously absent from all state-sanctioned tourist guides," Veronica weakly joked when Buffy arrived.

Life-threatening situations weren't her forte. She'd gotten herself into a few of them, and possessed a hell of a survival instinct, but she tended to barely escape with her life. No amount of tazing was going to stop this, nor Backup-sized dogs. Supernatural sieges were her girlfriend's area. She wouldn't ever debate that.

Buffy saw Giles' weapon chest against the wall. "Stay low. And keep her safe."

Veronica nodded, silently saying that was a given.

Aloud, she said, "Be careful."

A second later, an arrow embedded itself in Buffy’s arm.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried while Veronica pulled her sister back to cover.

"That's how you define 'careful'?" Veronica's sarcasm shielded her worry. "Of course it is. Our second grade teacher--if someone asked about those funny holes in her arm--would start talking to her imaginary ant buddy, ‘Mr. Needlefeet.’." She took hold of the arrow, face softening in sympathy.

"Hold still." With a swift yank, she pulled it out cringing, then snapped it in two. "Boom. No more phallic irony."

Buffy held her arm, rolled her eyes, and got back to business. "Giles, how many?"

"Uh, the leader upstairs...two by the living room windows...one through the window by the door," he counted. "We need help."

"Too bad we can't wait. I'm gonna try for the weapons again."

 

______

 

"Promise the cool new hole in _your_ arm won't make friends?” requested Veronica. “‘Cause they'd just bring on a healthy slew of mistaken impressions. Impressions I'd prefer not to have to debunk in an ER.

"Or, _or_...I'll settle for 'Option B.' After Raging Bull's," She drew her hand across her neck, making the universal, accompanying sound, "you come back."

Buffy smiled and squeezed her girlfriend’s hand. "Promise. But, I liked Miss Goldwin. Even if she was--" She quickly added for her sister, "--nothing you should ever tell Mom."

Dawn was always watching, but these last few minutes, she'd watched more closely than usual. Taking her mind off the violence, she zeroed in on Buffy and Veronica. They weren't gross or mushy about it, but it was there to be seen.

She saw the girl who couldn't go a sentence without trying to be funny, actually caring about her sister. A lot. And Buffy being a little less annoying. A little. As well as caring too.

It was sort of nice. Except she'd die before Buffy ever heard her say that. Hopefully not tonight. It would suck to die on an empty, stuffing-less stomach.

 

________

 

Long siege short? They were victorious. Faith, Weevil, Xander and Anya returned much like the cavalry to help beat back the natives who didn't want to die. Meanwhile, Buffy figured out that the knife Hus carried could injure him (and turn him into a very angry bear). Faith fought her way past the first wave outside, and once she made it through the door, Buffy found her.

Recognizing the value of teamwork, and realizing she had all of Bear-Hus' attention, she threw Faith the knife. Faith quickly surmised what she was supposed to do, and stabbed the animal in the back. It roared in pain, but then quietly shifted back into a man before dissolving into green mist.

The rest followed, and the fighting ended. That meant it was time to eat. Food being arranged on the table, Buffy reverently gave Giles the knife with which to carve the turkey.

Faith, on the other hand, still held the Chumash relic that was Hus' undoing. She stared at it, a faraway look in her eyes. She didn't notice Weevil walk up to her.

"Yogi leave a body?" he asked, taking her silence as answer enough. "Can't kill somethin' that never did. Just ‘cause he could pass himself off, doesn't mean he didn't need putting down."

He held out his hand. "Let go."

Vampires, demons...she took them out no problem. They didn't look human. Vampires could, but by the time she staked them, their faces were generally bumpy. She had no problem taking out a rabid animal either, but just like that, Hus wasn't one. He was a man with an accusing gaze.

It gave her flashbacks to an alley, screwed with her head. But finally seeing Weevil, she blinked, suddenly present. She dropped the knife into his palm.

All he said was, "Heads up," before going to add it to the weapons chest.

Dawn was there, dragging her to the table. "C'mon, I’ve wanted stuffing since forever!"

Faith let her smile loose. "You and me both, Pint-Size."

She sat as Buffy put some mashed potatoes on her plate.

"Nice spread, B. Should be proud."

 

______

 

"You too," said Buffy, noting for the third or fourth time today, that her two sisters--one biological and one not--were good for one another.

Logically it didn't follow, but the evidence was there. Veronica was right. Faith hadn't gotten lucky lately, and something told her it was by choice.

"Thanks for the save back there."

"Yes, wonderful timing, Faith," Giles complimented warmly. "It could've gotten much worse. For the value of my property, especially."

Everyone smiled their thanks, even Xander and Anya, who made up at some point during the night, and were this close to scaring Faith off sex for good. While Weevil took the seat next to hers, she shied from the gratitude, and just ate her potatoes.

Down the table, Willow moped. "Did you see me? Two seconds of conflict with an indigenous person, and I turned into General Custer."

"Violence does that," said Giles non-judgmentally. "Instinct takes over."

She silently asked forgiveness for how she'd acted.

"And you know what?" Xander spoke to his girlfriend, tapping her on the arm. "I think my syphilis is clearing right up."

Faith was pouring gravy over Dawn's food when those words caused her to drop the ladle with an audible clang. Dawn stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged.

"Nothing against the chef," Weevil prefaced, seeing that Veronica had also been right about this town, "but, Christmas? I'm deckin' my own halls--look for a card."

 

______

 

Buffy couldn't blame him. Christmas was going to happen in Neptune with her mom; she almost didn't pull Thanksgiving off. Yet for the moment, as she claimed her hard-earned seat across from Giles at the head of the table, she contentedly watched friends and family enjoying her meal.

She went from person to person until she stopped at the empty chair right next to...hey.

"Um, where's Veronica?"

 

________

 

"Angel," Veronica greeted the vampire when he arrived at his car a ways down the block from Giles' apartment.

She was sitting on the trunk, smiling. How'd she do that?

His steps slowed, but he still approached, crossing the street. "Veronica."

"So, I've been dying to ask--are you now or have you ever been Johnny Cash? Maybe in a 'Dread Pirate Roberts'-type scenario? Because if not, then somebody filched somebody else's gimmick. And you gotta admit, little tacky," she said.

When he didn't respond, she tilted her head to the side, attempting to study him. Then she shrugged and hopped herself off the vehicle.

"Ran my theory past your crack team, and wow, you'll never guess what dirty laundry they practically threw away. I almost felt like Goodwill." Then she stage-whispered, "Hint--in the wrong hands, it could be considered blackmailable."

Her, "I have all the cards" smirk was out to play.

"How I figure it? Even those pesky, gypsy curses have fine print somewhere, because _needing_ to shower-croon Manilow? Unnatural."

His cool, mysterious exterior cracked.

"And sharp as a razor isn't how Doyle and Cordelia described the experience,” she went on.

He grumpily stuck his hands in his pockets, and bit the inside of his cheek. "They're both getting fired."


	4. Four

"Follow-up: stalk any ex-girlfriends lately?"

Veronica could switch from sarcastically entertaining (if you weren't in her line of fire), to unrelenting, in a finger-snap.

"I wasn't..." Angel sighed despite not needing to. "I was protecting her. Doyle had a--"

"--vision. I got the scoop. Very 'Medium,'" she enlightened him. "But see, when you don't tell your ex," Her second, deliberate use of that word, "you're coming into town to be her pale knight in neutral-colored armor, it comes off less like protection, and more like, yeah, stalking. And here we are again, full circle."

He walked around her to get to the car and inspect the trunk for any scratches or chips in the paint.

"I didn't want things to get complicated."

"For you, or for Buffy?" she mildly accused, turning.

"If the only person you've loved in two-hundred and forty years found someone else while you were in a Hell dimension, so you got out of her life..."

He trailed off, rubbing what he perceived to be a smudge with his thumb.

"...until some, higher power decided you had to go see her again, how would you handle it?"

"First, the time-tested, 'rebound lay,'” she answered. “Would I like myself in the morning? Doubtful, but..."

He narrowed his eyes, and her error flashed neon. Wouldn't be the first time her overconfidence made her step in it.

"Youch. Forgot about that fine print." She rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Her dad taught her to never insult a man's sexual deficiencies unless there was a really good reason. At this point in time, Veronica had none. But it didn't look like he believed her apology.

"What? I am. They put ya behind the cosmic eight ball, gave you a raw deal...etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." She empathized, she did. "Doesn't get you off the hook for--"

"I'm not evil," he insisted for the third time that evening, preemptively.

Angel was getting rather annoyed at people jumping to that conclusion.

 

______

 

He then suspiciously asked, "What is it? The hook."

"Finding out whether vampires can eat solids." She dangled his car keys magically from her hand. "So how ‘bout you just save me the effort and extra-strength chloroform I'm trying to stockpile for a rainy day, and make this easy? Since you’re against unnecessary complications.

"Giles has a bell on standby--let's earn you your wings."

Vampire and detective stared one another down. She had her bag of tricks strapped around her shoulder as usual, but he could have had his keys back before she even opened it. They both knew that. But Veronica, once she accepted a case, never walked away. Especially one that came from her girlfriend.

Earlier, during the walk to the Summers' home, Buffy mentioned how it’d felt like she was being watched the last couple days. By default, Veronica's investigative instinct went to Angel, because it was always the ex. One phone call later, plus a canvas of the area while Buffy showered, and she had confirmation.

Angel was going to face the music. Right after she answered her cell, whose ringing made her jump, thereby ending the stare-down. Was that smugness on his face? She refrained from comment, fishing the phone out of her back pocket.

Looking at who was calling, she remembered what she hadn't done. "Frak." She answered a tad reluctantly, eyes closed tight. "Hi, honey. Guess who's coming to dinner?"

 

______

 

When her eyes reopened, she took a moment to look smugly back at the undead Irishman. He was locked in.

In all honesty, Angel didn't understand Veronica's attitude towards him. It began last year when he was still living in Sunnydale, and apparently hadn't changed. If anything, he was more entitled. She won; he lost.

Being with Veronica, escaping the Hellmouth, showed Buffy that life existed outside darkness. It was something she needed to see. Something he couldn't have shown her.

Not to say that Neptune was Mayberry, or that Veronica’s world didn't have its own darkness, but you couldn't compare.

And when the two were together, they had fun in spite of both towns' flaws. His and Buffy's relationship wasn't driven by fun--they were drawn to one another's misery, which they rarely tried pulling each other out of. They let it envelop them.

That was depressing.

Why wouldn't he get along with the person who knew Buffy better than he ever would, and knew how to make her happy? Oh. Yeah. Those were good reasons.

Maybe any other guy wouldn't, but he wasn't any other guy. Buffy's wellbeing had been paramount before they'd even met. And thanks to Veronica? Buffy was known to laugh regularly. He bet it was a great sound.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t right now.

 

______

 

Veronica hung up. "Willow and Giles sang like canaries. Ratted you out. Then apparently, logic told her if they knew, I had to know. Two-faced bastard." She hated when logic worked against her. "We...we could wait until the Tryptophan kicks in. I'm not in any rush to be deep-sixed."

"It's a, weird experience." He was speaking of being literally six feet deep.

Veronica shook it off, debating whether to actually take it slow. But that would've worsened the situation.

"Hitch up your slacks and move those getaway sticks, Lestat." She wasn't going to do the "one step forward, two steps back" thing. Not with Buffy. "We got some esplainin' to do."

As they walked up the block, Angel chose to ignore the literary reference. "You weren't out here just to catch me."

"These weren't red a minute ago..." she quipped, showing off her hands. "True. I also wanted to haul you in so I'd get front row for the interrogation/ass-kicking. Hasn't gone exactly according to plan, but everybody's got a dream. Blame it on my less adorable qualities."

"Why else?"

It wasn't insecurity. Getting Buffy to dust her once boyfriend and prove her love wasn’t Veronica’s motive. She didn't doubt her girlfriend’s feelings. Buffy wasn’t going to run into his arms. However, she did think--

"I get Buffy. Always have. Being able to meet at eye-level, a deep affinity for mid-90s dance mixes, seething hatred of the word, 'kafuffle'...whatever the cause, the effect?"

"What?" Angel asked after she seemed to be waiting.

"Uh, I get her?" Her fingers snapped in front of his face. "Little attention? Thanks," she sighed.

"So anyway, everything from favorite color, food, and CSI, to why she'll never set foot in a Tarzhey ever again...all those mysteries have long been solved. But...then there’s the Slayer.

"Who’s a total, Lynchian enigma." She stopped and turned to him. "Help. My confidence's been worked over by a lead pipe, and kneecaps are on deck."

She swallowed her pride in a deep breath, and pointed down at the section of sidewalk on which she stood. "Please...at least get me off square one."

 

______

 

Bingo. She thought he knew a part of Buffy she didn't. What else could it have been? Truth was, her guess was as good as his.

"I fought alongside her, but she wasn't always...there. Neither was I. We didn't talk about it much,” said Angel. “Took the pressure off."

Believing she was getting the runaround, Veronica began walking again, forcing him to match speed.

"Yeah, the ignorance didn't take. Any bliss was temporary," she replied, approaching the gate to Giles' complex. "If that's what you're offering..."

He put a hand on her arm, and they stopped again just inside the courtyard.

"For most people, even vampires, being alone is a choice. For slayers, it isn't that simple. They were created to act alone. They weren't part of the world, weren't meant to be. Buffy's different. She's trying to have something the girls before her didn't grow old enough to know they wanted."

"A life?" Veronica was angry at the universe on her girlfriend's behalf. "Tonight...you saved it. Didn’t you?"

He didn't say anything, nor did he have to.

"Then I owe you," she told him.

"Love her and we're even," Angel said without sentimentality. "If you wanna know what it's like for her, if you wanna help her, ask."

She was skeptical.

"Buffy trusts you, Veronica. More than she ever did me. She's probably wanted to tell you--"

"--but that means going wherever slaying makes her go, and what if I wasn't ready to travel?" She finally had it click. "Idiot."

Buffy had to hate keeping part of herself, however unpleasant, hidden.

Veronica had spent the last three years asking questions of people she didn't even like. Questions they _didn't_ want to answer. But when someone she cared about was willing...idiot.

______

 

"You're not," said Buffy, having seen them from the window, and come out. "Just, impulsive sometimes. Idiotically."

She was ready to be mad, but then she saw Veronica there, all not dead.

"Hi, Buffy." Angel wanted nothing more than to skulk away.

Him she was mad at. "Hi. Get inside. There's blood in the turkey pan."

Thankful for small mercies, Angel hurried to the door while attempting to seem like he wasn't. Prior to crossing the threshold, he looked quizzical at Veronica.

"'Getaway sticks'?"

"If you're gonna be a dick, learn the lingo," Veronica sighed at him. "Amateur."

She went up to Buffy, sporting "the Face" that had been her father's downfall since age four.

"When I came back you weren't there. Mid-'happy moment,' you weren't there," Buffy out-pouted her. "Then the happy moment? Wasn’t so much."

"So one-to-ten, an exhibition game of tonsil hockey would...?"

That was a trick.

"You don't have your tonsils." Like Buffy wouldn't remember the nitrous oxide incident. "But bicuspid lacrosse is maybe seven."

And the ref blew the whistle. A long minute and forty-three seconds later, he called time out, after which they walked hip-to-hip in the direction of the door.

“Made you a plate,” Buffy said.

Veronica’s response? To slap her ass. “That’s my Bertha.”

Then she noticed Buffy’s arm. The arm with the hole.

“Why hasn’t that been cleaned, disinfected and bandaged already?”

Oh no. Buffy had no idea how this became about her.

“Uh...I love you?”

“You don’t leave open wounds--stop me if you’ve heard this--open,” Veronica ranted, pulling her inside. “You close them so your girlfriend can relax, satisfied that you’re capable of taking care of yourself in her absence. Get your arm up.”

She was a woman on a mission. For a first-aid kit.

Buffy was nowhere near the end of this. But that was okay. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

 

________

 

Everyone had excuses to avoid cleanup duty. Xander and Anya went to have the much-discussed sex. Willow rode back to Neptune with Weevil, anxious to resume her top secret project with Mac that their friends were beginning to doubt existed. It kept her mind off of Oz, so, whatever worked.

Angel took his licks and skulked back to the city, but not before dropping Faith and Dawn off at home. Even Giles escaped to his visiting, British girlfriend's hotel. He'd known she was flying in.

Which was all incredibly convenient, as it stuck Veronica and Buffy with the aftermath. Not that they minded solitary togetherness, but they were limiting themselves to dishes. Any broken windows and/or furniture remained Giles’ home-improvement dilemma.

Veronica had dug out his "White Album" LP--"Glass Onion" played. There were some traditions learned from Lianne Mars that she always followed. Having the Beatles on while doing cleaning of any kind, was one of them.

"’Kay, switch," Buffy said, stepping left as Veronica passed behind her to the right, relinquishing the towel and discreetly cupping chest in a single motion.

Buffy looked over. Veronica rolled up her sleeves, tied her hair back, and was getting ready to tackle the sink when she met the look.

"What?" she asked with an exaggerated, "I don't know what your problem is but..." expression.

She flexed fingers on the offending hand. "I told you, I think I have serious nerve damage. I can't predict what it's gonna do." She picked up the sponge, her eyes going to Buffy's lower half. "Just be thankful you chose form-hugging pants which aren't easily unzipped. Because..." She whistled.

Buffy smiled, throwing her hip into Veronica's.

 

______

 

Drying the newly-scrubbed fork twenty seconds later, Buffy seemed to concentrate a little too hard.

"If you're trying to bend it with your mind..." Veronica teased. "Some things are best left to David Blaine."

"Wait," Buffy hadn't even heard, "if the dish ran away with the spoon, where was the fork?"

"Think about it. Even if she volunteered for the good of the rhyme scheme, no way was the cow, at any point, gung-ho over her moon-jump," Veronica explained.

"Maybe she needed a little," As she brought her arm up in a jabbing motion, she made a spit noise for effect, "help."

It was all so clear now.

Buffy drew in a breath, placing the utensil in its drawer. "She was ass-forked?"

"It was the moo heard 'round the world," Veronica nodded sagely, grabbing the scrub brush and going to town on the casserole dish. "Hey, worked on Yosemite Sam."

Buffy started giggling. Harder and harder.

"I'd kill at the Improv, I know--"

"No," Buffy shook her head, laughing still, "what...what was our cartoon we always watched?"

"Um, I remember a rather extensive lineup that...oh.” Veronica finally saw the funny. "Gotcha, Pussycat," she laughed. "Talk about a red flag. And we can't forget the Snorks--you liked Casey Kelp a bit _too_ much."

"Two words, Marsipan--'April O'Neil.'" Buffy didn't want to go there, but she was forced.

Veronica committed to the casserole dish to hide her shame.

 

______

 

"We Marses are a frugal clan, but we're frugal with priorities. Like keeping housework as simple, and automated, as possible. So skimp on a dishwasher? Hah."

"But Giles’ phone still has a cord attached. Plus an actual dial," Buffy reminded, as if that was explanation enough.

It was.

Next thing Veronica knew, her rear was towel-whipped. "And ya wonder why the guards separated us in the showers.”

"What?" Buffy copied her girlfriend's previous tone. "I think I have that same 'nerve damage' thing...what if it's like an epidemic?"

Veronica stuck out her tongue. "Get your own. How ‘bout a nice Asian Flu?"

But then she found herself in a moment. An appreciative, genuine moment that ended with her hugging her best friend.

Buffy of course hugged back. "Your hands're wet."

"So much ribaldry--how's a girl to choose?" Veronica grinned widely, weighing options before deciding to pass.

She tightened her grip, and spoke again. "I'm asking, okay? We don't have to now, because something tells me it'll...take a while, but when you're ready, so am I."

Breaking off the embrace, she tapped the end of Buffy's nose. "The day you scare me, Dumbers, is the day Jimmy Hoffa shows up saying he spent the last thirty years on a desert island talking to a volleyball. I love you."

"Veronica..." Buffy wanted to argue, however sweet the words.

"Buffy..." Veronica dared her to. "Have I ever dealt in anything other than cold, hard fact?"

She took the smile as a "no."

Buffy folded like laundry. "I do wanna; more than, I think I need to. And when I figure out how? I’ll explain all about being me." And what slaying did to her.

Veronica took her hand.

"Feel the same way about me and Aggie." She identified as much as she could. "But if I go tilt and lose this level-head of mine, you're allowed to cool me down."

That was her way of saying she needed her girlfriend.

 

______

 

"Open books?" Buffy wanted to confirm.

Veronica nodded. "'The Never-Ending Story,'" she said specifically, dropping an anvil. "Too subtle?"

"Think I got it," Buffy responded, moving in to kiss her.

What was sort of scary, was how important this was to both of them. Angel and Buffy were like a melodramatic, Shakespearean romance doomed before it’d begun. Easy to get caught up in, though--vampire, slayer, forbidden, powerful...yadda yadda yadda.

With Buffy and Veronica, it was more down to earth. Whatever that meant.  But they made each other better, which was a whole different kind of powerful. They didn't want to lose that; they were far too invested. Hence the scary.

"Does this mean I," Kiss, "get to tag along on more cases?" Buffy asked.

"If I’m tagging along," Kiss, "on more patrols," replied Veronica. "And you’re not too shabby at undercover. Seeing you in that sun dress...I think I got a fever. Possibly of a hundred and three."

"God. No more sororities. Marjorie," Buffy spoke the name with distain, "couldn't take hints. Flirting with _my_ girlfriend while I'm standing right there. I wanted to shove her face--"

"--though a glass onion?" Veronica smirked, shrugging helplessly. "I'm quite the catch." Beat. "Can’t believe she lost interest just because I got her dying, den mother fired for growing hash."

That case was still a sore spot, but she smiled past it and kissed Buffy again.

Her cell phone rang. "Stay puckered. These?" She pointed to her lips. "Coming right back."

She answered--it was Wallace. "Tell me you ate a Turducken."

"A what?" Buffy wondered. "Oh! Ask him what a ricer is."

They never did find it. Next Thanksgiving, perhaps.


	5. Epilogue

{...About One Month Later...}

 

It was the morning of the eleventh day of Christmas, otherwise known as December 24th. Making the twelfth day of Christmas, the 25th. It was all very nonsensical, but tradition was tradition--too late to change now.

Keith Mars awoke, tiredly shuffled out of his bedroom, and found his daughter and her girlfriend in the same vedging positions on the couch that they were in when he went to sleep more than twelve hours ago.

"Have you at least power-napped?" he inquired hopefully, taking in their bleary-eyed, adrenaline-fueled countenances.

"Why? Red Bull," Veronica limply gestured to the empty cans littering the table.

"We'd miss it," said Buffy, not looking away from the TV. "Can't. Against rules."

His eyebrows went up. "Then how--?"

"Turned the TV."

"Ssh. It’s time," his daughter told them both.

Veronica (and Buffy) suddenly became extremely attentive, sitting up. Buffy raised the volume for the most crucial scene of John Hughes' "Christmas Vacation." They listened to the beginning of Chevy Chase's soliloquy with awe.

"I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a--"

Then they spoke along with his rapid-fire delivery, each taking a word. Buffy started off; it was her turn. "Cheap,"

"Lying," and in came Veronica.

Buffy again. "No-good,"

"Rotten,"

"Four-flushing,"

"Low-life,"

"Snake-licking,"

"Dirt-eating,"

"Inbred,"

"Overstuffed,"

"Ignorant,"

"Blood-sucking,"

"Dog-kissing,"

"Brainless,"

"Dickless," Buffy watched Keith's reaction out of the corner of her eye, and didn't say it as loud as she might have.

She couldn't not say it. Beeping wasn't allowed at this scene.

"Hopeless," Veronica continued.

"Heartless,"

"Fat-ass,"

"Bug-eyed,"

"Stiff-legged,"

"Spotty-lipped,"

Being in the home stretch, they spoke as one. "Worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit." As Chevy breathed, so did they. "Where's the Tylenol?"

Keith shook his head at them. "You're very odd children."

They ignored him, high-five-ing their accomplishment.

 

______

 

"Why don't you take Backup out? Get some air. See the outside world," he suggested.

"The flaw in that plan?" Veronica said.

"It's outside," Buffy answered.

"And if Homer Simpson's taught us anything," Veronica continued, "it's the value of a perfectly molded ass groove. We can't give them up now."

"It's like a science," added Buffy, then she looked over at Backup, who seemed as lazy as they were, lying against the chair. "Besides, he's--"

"Wanna go for a walk, boy?" Keith posed to the dog.

Backup was standing immediately, practically bouncing. His male owner walked wordlessly to the door, got the leash that hung off to the side on the key rack, and tossed it onto his child's lap.

"Have fun, you two. Try not to get arrested."

"You're a mean one, Grinchy." Veronica mock-glared. "That was below the belt."

"It's all a matter of perception, sweetheart," came Keith’s response as he went and opened the fridge. "Is it my fault that mine is always right?"

"Watch the cockiness, Old Man," she warned, standing shakily on her own two feet. "I won't forg...gah."

She collapsed back onto the sofa. "I didn't nap, but my ass is."

Now Buffy nodded, understanding all too well. "That's the price for a groove worth having."

 

________

 

"Allrighty then. I bring the 'Nog, smuggled in harmless cans of delicious Frutopia, you bring the heartwarming TV specials," said Veronica as they walked the beach, her holding Backup's leash. "From the ‘Rankin-Bass’ oeuvre, to well-mannered, Christmas Poo."

"Will's joining for ‘Peanuts Hour,’" Buffy mentioned, hugging herself because of the sea’s chill. "She’ll wig if we start without her. It's like us with the Griswolds, except she's still kinda rebelling."

"That means Mac won’t be far behind, and they'll huddle around their laptops like monkeys around a monolith."

Veronica tried once to snoop, but she was no match for the safeguards of two computer geniuses who'd expected her to.

"Should we invite Parker over?" Buffy asked.

"Parker would make five. Five is a group. I don't do groups." Veronica was somewhat baffled. "When did I get friends? Note the emphasis on the 's.'"

"Beats me," Buffy shrugged, clueless. "Doesn't make any sense. You're kind of uber-bitchy."

"With a capitial ' _You_.'" Veronica threw her free arm around Buffy's neck and drew out a sigh. "Girls night it is. But I can't be held responsible for whatever happens during the obligatory game of 'Truth or Dare.'"

Buffy gave a small smile. "'Truth or Don't,' you mean."

Veronica rubbed her own chin. "Can't say I'm familiar. Are there rules?"

"I'll make a list."

 

______

 

Backup halted and whimpered.

"Okay, okay, I'll cut you loose," Veronica told her dog, "but if you get on a hermit crab's wrong side again, and come a'runnin', don't expect any sympathy."

His head just cocked to the side. She undid the leash, and off he went.

"Uh oh. We're all alone...whatever could we do now?" Her finger went in the air. "I know!"

Buffy didn't like that look.

Veronica walked casually behind her, and then jumped on her back. "I've always wanted a pony."

Buffy did the only thing she could--made the proper adjustments so she held Veronica steady.

"Is it weird that she sorta turns me on?" Veronica pondered.

"The Internet says no," replied Buffy.

Veronica looked like she'd just eaten an extra-sour "Sour Patch Kid." "Now I feel unclean...and not at all validated."

Buffy grinned and began running down the beach.

 

______

 

Days like this, Buffy much preferred Neptune. Especially because Sunnydale's latest hijinks involved voice-stealing, fairytale monsters and a mini-apocalypse. Both incidents Faith handled "superbly"--Giles' word of choice. And that was great. Wonderful. Terrific. Yet...

She felt like she was abandoning her calling sometimes. Despite Faith's and Giles' objections to the contrary, she couldn't help it. But then again, she was technically a bonus. Ever since her death, then Kendra's, Faith was _the_ Chosen.

It was strange, because she wasn't jealous. Nor angry. She didn't know what she was.

Buffy remembered telling Veronica that first date: { _"When I save everyone and don't feel crushed by, I love being 'chosen.'"}_  

As much as the negatives frightened her, she did love the positives. Knowing her actions made a difference, even a small one, felt good. She rarely got to be that person anymore.

By choice, obviously; she wasn't blaming anyone. She was lucky to be able to go to college, to be with her girlfriend...to be normal. She was grateful to Faith for that. She was.

But being occasionally abnormal wasn't so horrible.

 

______

 

"Whoa nelly," called Veronica.

Both of them heard Backup barking up ahead.

"Either he ran afoul of Mr. Krabs, or there’s trouble down at the Old Well,” she surmised.

Buffy picked up the pace, and they found him sniffing a body at the water's edge. The waves would come in, and then recede, not caring that they were splashing Santa Claus. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Veronica got down off Buffy's back and called her dog quickly over. She saw what he had. Mismatched socks with holes, the ratty appearance of a trademark, red suit, and intense "five o'clock" shadow. She thought, "Ho, Ho, Hobo" was mirthlessly appropriate.

"What's that smell?" Buffy got a whiff even with the sea air.

"Whew. St. Nick liked his Peppermint Schnapps...least it's seasonal," deduced Veronica, re-leashing her dog and pulling out her phone. "I better call the 5-0."

"Good thing there's no kids out yet," Buffy said, crouching down over the body. "Remember the Christmas Eve I freaked until my dad put out the fire in the fireplace because I thought Santa wasn't gonna know, and--"

"--'Flame On?' Like your cookies that year?"

Buffy glared at Veronica for the reference as well as the memory, but Veronica wasn’t paying attention.

"Wow, 911, and it only took _four_ rings this time. That's a record, isn't it, Sacks?"

Frigging Lamb.

"If the Sheriff isn't too busy asking S.C. for more Tonka Trucks and a Hot Wheels play-set, you may wanna tell'm the Big Guy's belly shook like a bowlful of booze, and it's starting to bloat.

"Unless he wants 'Stand By Me' the holiday remake..." Veronica listened to the deputy speak. "Omaha Beach. Off Sunset."

Getting off the phone, she went to stand behind her girlfriend. "Soon as they fish their badges outta the cereal box, they’re on the way."

She looked down at the body. "He couldn'ta gone with the 'drink yourself to death' cliché? Dumpsters don't get no love."

Buffy looked up at her. "I don't think it was the drinking."

Veronica saw more closely. His neck was exposed. There were bite marks.

"Merry Christmas," frowned Buffy.

Maybe she didn't deserve to be a slayer. She let a vampire kill Santa Claus. In _Neptune_. On Christmas Eve.

How come this felt like the first, ominous dot in a long line of bad?


End file.
